


motel bathrooms, beach jogs, etc.

by linderella



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Flashbacks, M/M, Pining, Post Black Panther, Post Civil War, Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), emotional denny's time, getting drunk and cutting your hair, im so bad at tags, real depression hours every day of the week, steve doesn't agree with t'challa, steve has just left bucky in wakanda and he's not dealing with it very well, steve is rlly sad someone hug him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-16 00:09:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14800550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linderella/pseuds/linderella
Summary: sooooo this is the first fic ive actually written about stevebucky and of course i spent the entire thing talking about sam and nat because i would die for them both. this fic came about after the whole "the hotels weren't exactly five star" thing in infinity war. anyway it got my gears turning and i wondered what steve and his team had been doing during that time and this story was born. lots of steve being mopey ahead. anyway! enjoy. let me know what you think.





	motel bathrooms, beach jogs, etc.

**Author's Note:**

> sooooo this is the first fic ive actually written about stevebucky and of course i spent the entire thing talking about sam and nat because i would die for them both. this fic came about after the whole "the hotels weren't exactly five star" thing in infinity war. anyway it got my gears turning and i wondered what steve and his team had been doing during that time and this story was born. lots of steve being mopey ahead. anyway! enjoy. let me know what you think.

Steve always wakes up before everyone else. Sometimes, he doesn't sleep at all. He wonders if this super soldier body could survive without sleep--he never sees any repercussions when he watches the door of the motel room intently each night, daring someone to gamble their luck and try to break into the room.

There’s a streetlight outside, the orange light striping across the room even with the blinds shut as tightly as possible. Steve listens to Natasha and Sam, their breathing. Sam is an obnoxiously loud snorer, so loud that even if Steve felt like sleeping, he’d probably be up all through the night anyway.

Natasha is quieter. In some ways, it always feels like she isn’t around unless she wants to be. Most of the time, she does want to be. But even Natasha, who always seems to be on fire, has her moments. They all do.

Steve can’t seem to drop off. Sleeping is mechanical now. The first night he tried to sleep after the experiments, he felt like he could only sleep if he thought really hard about it. He’d have to shut his eyes, lay on his right side, count sheep. Then he would sleep. That was it. If he dreamt, they were detailed and sometimes even lucid, so real that he’d wake up sweating.

That’s what he does now. Because staying awake just means thinking. He wants to do anything but think.

Sam is up at sunrise, probably two hours later for a run. Steve springs off the floor, ready to go with him. Sam lets out a sigh when he sees him.

“Did you ditch the bed to sleep on the floor again?” Sam chides, his eyes rolling to the ceiling. Steve shrugs, like it’s nothing.

“You kick in your sleep.”

Sam doesn’t laugh or flip him a bird. Instead, he just shakes his head real sad and disappointed, looking at Steve like he’s a puppy that’s just been stepped on. Or a man who seems incomplete without his other half. “You don’t have to, Steve.”

Steve sags his shoulders a little, lowering his voice. Nat isn’t exactly a joy to be around when she’s woken up in the mornings, especially before the sun has risen. “You don’t gotta lecture me, Sam.”

“It’s kind of my job.” He smiles a little now, throwing Steve his running shoes that he’d lined up by the motel door. “Now put these on and run laps around me, you quick little asshole.”

Steve rolls his eyes, slipping on the running shoes. They’re worn down from the miles Steve has been able to run without much trouble. He’s slowed it down a lot so that he can talk to Sam while they run, but after awhile it becomes pointless since Sam can’t exactly have conversations when he can hardly breathe at all. Most of the time, they run in silence, reading each other. It has become sort of therapeutic.

The team is staying in some sleepy beach town on the coast. He doesn’t remember the name, but it’s less crowded with tourists and the people seem to be pretty mellow about the fact that Captain America and Falcon have been jogging on the beach every morning. Steve is sort of thankful for that; In New York, it was starting to get unbearable. He couldn’t seem to go anywhere without getting recognized. For Tony, it was a dream. Steve couldn’t say he agreed.

Shit. Tony.

It’s been eight months since Steve sent that letter to Tony. He never got a response. Which. Okay, fine. Not like he deserved it. He was the one who had lied through his teeth, pretended he didn’t know that Howard Stark had died at the hands of Hydra and the Winter Soldier’s metal fist.

He feels sick, suddenly.

He slows down beside Sam, taking a breath on the sandy sidewalk next to the beach they’re running on. Sam doesn’t notice at first, running a few feet before looking back at Steve, backtracking until he’s got his hand on Steve’s back, clearly concerned.

“Steve.”

Steve waves a hand, dismissing him. “M’sorry. Sorry.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “It’s fine. I just wanna make sure you’re okay.”

Steve scoffs. “I’m okay. Really.” He coughs, then tries to smile convincingly. “You’re just happy that I’m the one that stopped running. You don’t fool me.”

Sam laughs then, ringing out across the near silent beach. The only sound is the waves crashing on the shore. “You can’t prove that.”

  
***

When they get back from their run, Natasha is, miraculously, awake. She’s sitting on the motel bed, her legs crossed as she watches the news. It’s finally seemed to calm down enough that the stories aren’t about airport cleanup or speculation about an Avengers breakup. Somehow, Tony decided not to go public about that. Of course, it didn’t stop speculation when Iron Man started showing up to (UN approved, Jesus) battles without much of an Avengers team.

Steve has to admit, Tony and Rhodes seem to do fine on their own. He can’t help but wonder how Rhodes is doing these days. It took him time to get back out with Tony, but Steve knows that he’s walking again. The guilt still wells up in Steve’s chest when he lets himself think about it.

Natasha purses her lips when Steve walks into the room and takes off his running shoes. Sam runs for the shower first, since he’s always drenched in sweat when they get back from running and Steve can’t seem to do the same. Once the bathroom door is closed and Steve hears the stream of water beating against the shower door, Natasha speaks.

“You look like shit.” She informs Steve bluntly. Steve isn’t offended; He probably does. Just because he has trouble sleeping, doesn’t mean he looks like he has slept. The bags under his eyes have gotten particularly dark and noticeable lately.

Steve flops down on the bed in the space beside her. He decides not to reply to her comment.

“Did you stay up all night again?”

“I got a good two hours, actually.” Steve replies, his words immediately followed by Natasha swatting him upside the head.

“I know you’re a super soldier and all, but that doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t sleep.” She scolds him. “You really need to rest. You…” She doesn’t finish and Steve hates it. Because Steve knows she wants to ask him what’s wrong. Because Sam and Natasha think it’s about the Avengers breaking up.

Which.

Not really.

“I’m fine, Natasha.” Steve assures her. “It’s just hard to get my mind to stop racing, sometimes.”

“No offense,” Natasha is glaring at him, but it doesn’t really hold much weight. “Maybe if you stopped moving and sleeping on the floor, you’d sleep easier.”

“I can’t. The mattresses in these places are shitty. They mess up my neck.” Steve is lying. Natasha knows he’s lying. But Steve doesn’t know how to tell her that the last time he saw Bucky before the fight with Tony, Steve had shared a bed with him. Bucky had held onto Steve throughout the night as he woke with nightmares. He doesn’t know how to explain the way Bucky kept apologizing to Steve every time he woke up him up with crying and then fell asleep with his head on Steve’s chest.

How was he supposed to sleep normally after he’d held Bucky again? After he knew that he could do that?

Natasha doesn’t push after that. Because despite being stubborn and blunt as hell, she knows when to stop.

Around then, Sam hops out of the shower and Steve decides to get in after him. The whole thing is mechanical and Steve tries to read the hotel shampoo bottle the entire time so that he doesn’t let his mind wander and start thinking about Bucky again. He does anyway.

Bucky was using baby shampoo the last time Steve saw him. He’d gotten a homeless kit awhile back and it included some shower supplies. Steve had spent so long trying to remember how Bucky smelled after he’d woken up. This scent was so different but so Bucky.

Once Steve gets in front of the mirror in the bathroom, he shaves. Maybe he should grow a beard. Thor seemed to pull it off. Once Steve finishes, he has to admit, he looks half decent. He still looks like he hasn’t slept in days, but he thinks he can even downplay that. Sam and Natasha are talking in low voices in the other room, and Steve doesn’t care enough to wonder if it is about him.

Steve returns to the bedroom, where Sam and Natasha have both the television and the police scanner playing gently. Steve sits down on the bed he’s supposed to be sharing with Sam, doing his best to hear the voices of the local officers over the morning news that Natasha has on. It isn’t often that they go out and apprehend criminals on their own, but it passes the time and distracts from the reality that they spend most of their time locked in the motel room.

The radio continues to report on minor crimes, speeding violations and other things that don’t really interest anybody. Steve would protest that part of this had to do with the fact they were stationing themselves in a tiny beach town, but even Steve knew that they couldn’t risk being in a bigger city with more crime.

Steve is pulled from the police scanner by Natasha getting their attention by turning the volume on the television up. On the screen, King T’Challa sits surrounded by some associates, about to begin a press conference. Steve is confused, and by the looks of it, so are Sam and Nat.

“We are awaiting the commencement of a UN press conference called by King T’Challa of the small African nation of Wakanda. In September, Wakanda lost their former Leader, King T’Chaka in a terrorist attack at the UN Accords Meeting. His son and successor, King T’Challa, is expected to be updating the UN on Wakanda’s economic state. As a small farming nation, this is a formality. ”

As the reporter finishes talking, the camera pans back to T’Challa. He clears his throat, signifying a hushed silence from the crowd. There is silence for a moment, the only sound being the flashes of cameras.

Then, he takes a breath.

“My name is King T’Challa,” He says, his eyes scanning the crowd as his associates stand straight and proud behind him. “Son of King T’Chaka. I am the sovereign ruler of the nation of Wakanda. For the first time in our history, we will be sharing our knowledge and resources to the outside world.”

Nat can’t help but gasp. Steve’s eyes open in surprise, his heart beating hard in his chest. His mind is swimming, but he’s trying his best to listen to the rest of what T’Challa is saying. He’s holding his breath.

“Wakanda will no longer watch from the shadows. We cannot. We must not. We will want to be an example of how we, as brothers and sisters on this earth, should treat each other. Now, more than ever, the illusions of the vision threaten our very existence. We all know the truth: more connects us than separates us. But in times of crisis, the wise build bridges, while the foolish build barriers.”

Steve’s stomach twists, suddenly recalling the bridges he’s burned in the past few months. He’s always known he wasn’t wise, always felt out of place when he was hailed as a hero. Steve knows better than anyone that he wears a Captain America mask. He knows that he’s a lab experiment that they can’t seem to exterminate.

T’Challa’s smooth voice continues to sail over the crowd. “We must find a way to look after one another as if we were one single tribe.”

The room explodes into whispers, questions beginning right away. T’Challa calls on a bald man on his left, with horn rimmed glasses. He leans forward into his mic, a confused look plastered on his face.

“With all due respect King T’Challa, what can a nation of farmers have to offer the rest of the world?

The women standing behind T’Challa can’t help but crack a smile. Sam laughs out a short laugh, knowing the ridiculousness of the question. He’s never actually been to Wakanda, but he knows enough about their advanced technology to understand how huge this announcement really is.

T’Challa smiles and starts talking about some of Wakanda’s plans, establishing foreign aid playing a huge role. T’Challa continues assuring the crowd that as time progresses, the world will begin to understand the things Wakanda will have to offer. The questions keep coming, and Steve can’t bring himself to move.

“Wow,” Nat finally says. “I can’t believe they’re actually doing it.”

Steve keeps watching.

Sam is talking now. “It’s a good thing too, who knows how much they could help with war efforts and protection, what with all that tech they’re hoarding.”

Steve feels the rage bubbling up under his skin, clouding his brain like it tends to do. Serum couldn’t fix that. He thinks about Bucky, frozen in the ice. He was supposed to be safe. He was supposed to be safe. Suddenly, Steve imagines Bucky being taken again, Hydra somehow finding him and taking him back, forcing him to comply and mindlessly killing over and over again. The thought makes his blood run cold.

“How can you say that?” Steve hisses when Sam finishes talking. Sam and Natasha are shocked by his biting response. Steve lets out a short breath from his nose. “How could you advocate for that, you of all people? Those Wakandan people have known nothing but peace and tranquility. They have been protected for centuries because they haven’t engaged in any of the shit that war brings with it. You think Wakandans deserve the devastation of war? You worked with veterans every day, Sam. War isn’t valiant or noble. I’ve made the mistake of thinking otherwise.”

The room is silent after Steve finishes talking. Sam just stares, not knowing how to respond. Sam isn’t one to be kicked around, but he’s also not one to get over his head like Steve does, fighting when he knows he will lose. It’s actually quite practical.

“Steve…” Natasha says, sounding both irritated and worried. “You know the things that Wakanda can do. Their technology could save lives. It’s not just about war efforts. Their work could save innocent lives, too.”

Steve abruptly stands up, shoving on the first pair of shoes he finds in front of him. He needs to walk away. He knows how he gets when he’s like this and he needs time alone. He turns and looks at Sam, then at Nat.

“Look, I just need a minute alone. I’m sorry.” Then he’s out the door.

***  
Steve knows he should talk to Sam and Nat about his outburst. He knows that. Doesn’t mean that’s what ends up happening. Steve ends up taking a long walk on the pier, his hands in the pockets of the sweatpants he’s wearing. Steve stares out across the water, glassy and calm. Steve feels guilty for how the tranquility seemingly calms him down.

Steve kicks a small pebble over the pier’s edge and into the water. As the morning has turned into afternoon, the fog he’d seen earlier in the morning has nearly disappeared. He’s thinking about Bucky again.

“All this damn smoke,” Bucky had said, squinting his eyes out over the city and shaking his head. “One day you won’t be able to see anything more than two feet in front of you.”

Steve had reached over and snatched the cigarette from him after he said that. “Maybe you shouldn’t be adding to the smog, Buck.”

The memory tugs at Steve’s chest for some reason. Maybe it’s because they’d been sitting on the fire escape of their apartment, or that it had only been a few weeks after Steve’s mother had died. Steve tries to picture Bucky on that night, and it comes easily. His skin dirty from his work, hair sticking to his forehead. He’d loosened the buttons on his shirt, the first four buttons hanging open and free.

Steve takes another few minutes to stew on the pier before heading back to the hotel room. When he gets back, Natasha and Sam have changed the channel on the television to a telenovela. When they look at Steve, he expects them to be angry. Instead, their faces soften, which is somehow worse.

“Steve.” It sounds sad coming out of Natasha’s mouth, overly soft. Sam is wearing a matching expression.

Steve shakes his head brushing them off. “Sam, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken that out on you. Natasha, you’re right about the Wakandan technology. You know me…” He chuckles humorlessly, looking at the ground. “Never know when to avoid a fight.”

Sam and Nat look like they want to say more, but they just nod and tell Steve it’s alright. And in a way, he hates them for that. For tiptoeing around him like he’s a child. He’s nearly a hundred goddamn years old, and yet he can’t avoid the quivering lips and woeful glances over their shoulders.

***

They end up having to leave a week later. Word gets out about where they’re staying, and they wake up one morning to a crowd of reporters in the parking lot wanting to know if the Avengers have broken up, and why their bios have been removed from the official website. Steve brushes past them to their car, and Sam gives the reporters some short statement, refraining from commenting.

Once they’ve driven away from the scene and out of town, Natasha sighs loudly. “Shit.” She curses. “This is how it’s gonna be now.”

Steve keeps driving, heading in the opposite direction of the ocean. He just nods his head, setting his jaw. He feels bad suddenly for dragging Nat and Sam into all of this. He notices that Natasha has a crease between her eyebrows from worrying. He feels a pang in his chest, like the ones he feels when he thinks about Bucky.

“You’re gonna give me wrinkles, Rogers.” Bucky had said one night, handing Steve a bag of frozen peas to hold over his shiner. “I’m gonna have one of those stretched leather faces and it’s gonna be all your fault. Hope you’re happy.”

Bucky’s wrinkles would have been Steve’s fault. That was a burden that Steve had been willing to bear. He wanted to see Bucky age. Steve knows, deep in his chest, that the worry lines come from the way Nat frets constantly over Steve’s decisions. Natasha’s wrinkles, contrary to Buck’s, seem like just another thing that Steve has forced onto her.

They end up driving until nightfall, following a long stretch of highway until they’re in a small town with a beat up motel attached to an eyesore of a casino. There’s not a lot around, just a gas station, a supermarket, and a couple of souvenir shops.

“Well?” Sam says, once they’ve checked into a motel room and thrown their stuff on the beds. “My ass hurts from driving all day. I’m going to try my luck at that casino.”

Steve flops onto his back on the motel bed, squeaky and a lump immediately makes itself known under his right shoulder blade. He rolls his eyes at Sam, gesturing vaguely.

“You realize we just spent all day trying to get away from people, right?”

“No one is going to be at a casino is the middle of nowhere, Steve.” Nat chimes in, then looks over at Sam. “Give me five minutes.”

Natasha goes into the bathroom, the sound of the sink following the lock turning on the door. Steve stares at the popcorn ceiling. The room smells like coffee and Febreze air freshener. Sam wanders beside Steve, standing above him and looking down, annoyed, but not saying anything. Steve throws a pillow at him as soon as he turns his back.

Sam whips around, laughing a little. “You’re just gonna do that after moping around for an entire month, Rogers?” He throws the pillow back, hard and enough to hit Steve square in the chest. Steve shrugs at the accusation Sam makes.

“Haven’t been moping.”

Natasha pokes her head out of the bathroom. “Keep telling yourself that.”

Sam snorts in response. Nat walks out of the bathroom, her hair combed through and her face freshly washed. She looks at Steve pointedly, clearly annoyed with him. She makes her way across the room, looking down at Steve laying on his back the same way that Sam did. She stands with her hands on her hips, somehow incredibly intimidating. Her red hair curls around the nape of her neck, a combination of humidity and cheap shampoo.

“You can’t just sit around and sigh, Steve.” She takes one hand off her hip and runs it through her hair. Steve notices, briefly, that her nails are chewed down short. His fault. “Come with us. It will be fun.”

For only a second, Steve considers it. Instead, he shakes his head.

“I should really just hang around here. Keep watch of our things, you know. Go on without me.”

Natasha looks like she’s going to protest, but clamps her mouth shut instead. She’s still clearly irritated, but must decide that it’s not worth it to lose this fight with Steve. After a moment, she leaves with Sam without saying more than goodbye.

Once they’re gone, Steve stares at the ceiling in the dark. It isn’t completely quiet, since the motel is connected to a casino. He can hear drunken laughter out in the parking lot, and suddenly misses being able to do the same. He never drank a lot before the serum, anyway. He hated the way it burned as it went down his throat.

“Maybe you should slow down, pal.” Bucky had said one night, walking a tipsy Steve home. Steve hadn’t had more than one drink, but it was enough to make his tiny frame all slurred and overly brave.

“Oh, shut up.” Steve sort of laughed at Bucky. “You’re just worried I’ll beat you home.”

Bucky let out this long laugh that sounded like a string of musical notes, then readjusted Steve on his shoulder as they made their way up the stairwell to their apartment. Once they were at the door, Bucky fumbled around for the spare key on the doorframe, letting the door fly open and dragging Steve inside.

Once the door was closed, the cold of the apartment hit Steve in the face. It was pitch black besides some city lights coming through the kitchen window. Steve looked over at Bucky, who was wearing this tender expression. Steve’s chest felt warm.

“Buck…” Steve reached out, resting his hand on the side of Bucky’s face. His lips were warm. He let Steve kiss him, his hands limp at his sides. Steve pulled away after only a second, and whispered, “You feel just like the sun.”

And then he was at the sink, throwing up. Bucky stayed back, letting Steve vomit noisily. Steve hated the way it burned his nose. Once he’d finished, he leaned up against the countertop, his chest heaving. Bucky shook his head.

“You should sleep.”

Bucky helped Steve into the double bed they normally shared, making sure he had water. Steve woke up a few hours later, his head pounding and the sun burning his eyes. He reached out, not able to feel Bucky beside him. He sat up, looking around. Finally, his eyes found Bucky curled up on the old wood floor, a quilt around him. He never said anything about the night before.

Steve remembers the way Bucky’s eyes had looked, the first time he’d seen him, on the bridge. They reminded him of a scared animal. Because that’s what they’d turned Bucky into. Steve wishes he could cry. He can’t stop wondering if Bucky is even safe in Wakanda. He has Princess Shuri’s phone number, but he doesn’t know what sort of instance is worthy of an actual call. So he just closes his eyes.

***

Somehow, Steve falls asleep. However, it’s not long before the motel door swings open, Sam and Natasha are laughing about something, Natasha holding a plastic grocery sack from the supermarket they’d seen around the corner.

“Shhh…” Natasha tries to whisper, but it comes out as loud as everything else. “Don’t wake the baby.”

Sam laughs too, taking off his jacket and shoes. He takes the grocery bag from Natasha, dumping the contents on the bed. Steve watches with one eye open, apparently going completely unnoticed by Sam and Natasha. They are both visibly wasted.

“What are you doing?” Steve speaks up, mostly because it’s too dark to see what they are laying out on the bed. Nat jumps out of her skin at the sound.

“Jesus, Rogers. You scared me.”

Steve sits up, raising an eyebrow. “Says the Russian spy.”

Nat rolls her eyes. “I’m vulnerable.” She’s still slurring her phrases, shifting her balance between one foot to the other.

“We’re doing a little...makeover.” Sam tells Steve. Steve swings his legs over the side of the bed, standing and looking at the items on the bed. There were a few boxes of hair product, and a fresh pair of scissors.

Steve sighs. “You can’t have scissors while you’re drunk.”

Nat hands Steve the scissors. “Good. Then I guess there is a positive outcome of you staying home, Gramps. I want it just above my shoulders.”

“Why are you cutting your hair?”

Natasha shrugs. “I embrace change.”

It makes Steve’s stomach drop, even though he knows Natasha isn’t directing it at him. Instead of reacting, he takes the scissors from Natasha’s hand and moves everyone to the motel bathroom. Sam sits himself on the toilet lid, while Natasha perches herself on the sink. Steve takes a lock of her hair between his index and middle finger, smoothing it out and pulling it stiff and straight. He eyes the place he plans to cut, and then snips before he can think more about it. A piece of shiny red hair falls to the white tiled floor of the bathroom, and for a second, it is silent. Then, Natasha laughs. Sam follows not long after.

“Shit.” Steve chuckles. “No going back now.”

Steve continues to snip at Natasha’s hair, doing his best to make it look even. Natasha and Sam don’t say much after the haircut is finished, seeming to mellow out. Steve knows Natasha wants to bleach her hair, and he can’t help but feel sentimental about her beautiful coppery red.

“Are you sure?” Steve asks. “I love your hair.” Once he says it, Natasha’s face softens as her lips turn upward.

“I do too.” After a moment, she adds, “But it’s time to move on.”

And so they get right into the bleaching. Steve paints the bleach onto Natasha’s hair, using foil strips as he finishes. He knows he’s not being as careful as he should, but considering she was planning to have Sam do it drunk, he figures he’s a better option. Sam and Natasha start talking about their night at the casino, Sam nearly pissing himself laughing describing how Natasha cheated during poker.

Once Steve finishes painting Nat’s hair with bleach, he rereads the instructions. It’s already two in the morning, but Steve isn’t at all tired. By the looks of it, neither are Sam and Nat.

“The bleach needs to process for thirty minutes.” Steve informs them both . Steve immediately gets to work cleaning up the chopped locks of Nat’s hair on the ground, sweeping them into the palm of his hand. Natasha leans back against the cool of the glass mirror, her eyes on the bathroom ceiling.

“Where do you think Bruce is?” She asks suddenly, and apparently to nobody in particular. Steve purses his lips, not sure how to respond. She’s drunk and vulnerable, she said so herself. Steve feels like he’s not an authority on the subject. He’s not dealing with being apart from Bucky very well, and he knows where he is.

Steve watches as Sam reaches over and holds Natasha’s hand, tenderly. It makes his heart swell a bit, to see Sam show such gentleness with someone as guarded as Nat. Sam strokes her thumb.

“He’s probably alright.” He tells her, though Steve doesn’t know if he really believes that. “He’s smart as hell, Nat.” Natasha looks like she might cry, which scares Steve. He’s never seen Natasha cry.

He’s never wanted to admit it, but Steve feels small next to Natasha. Sometimes, he feels like he spends most of his time basking in her glory, narrowly avoiding a sunburn. Nat pretends she’s rough on the inside, but Steve knows that she’s got a tender heart of gold. In a lot of ways, she reminds Steve of Bucky.

“When you lose someone…” Sam looks down at the tile floor. “I just know how it feels.”

Then they’re both looking at Steve. Their eyes are invasive and questioning and reminds Steve of T’Challa after they had put Bucky under, the way he’d placed his hand on Steve’s shoulder and nodded, as if assuring him. For a moment, Steve even let himself believe that it made him feel better.  
  
Steve feels guilty for moping around about Bucky sometimes. He can see the pain in Sam and Natasha’s eyes when they are reminded of the people they’ve lost, coming in waves. Even Sam, who spends most of the time laughing with his head thrown back, the light in his eyes flickering like candlelight, has his moments. A few weeks back, he’d gotten all blue after seeing a bag of foreign candy at a gas station, telling Steve it had reminded him of his friend Riley.  
  
He knows they want him to say something. It’s not lost on Steve how much they wish he’d open up. He just doesn’t know how. The way he feels about Bucky is locked deep inside him, hidden from the rest of the world. That’s the way it has always been. Before, it had to be that way. He’d been so afraid of the way he’d felt, trying so hard to repress it. The night he’d kissed Bucky had been the only time he’d acted on his feelings, and Bucky had never said a word about it again.  
  
It’s strange, waking up in a world so drastically different than the one he had left. Steve had watched gay marriage legalized, live on television. He watched as cameras panned over the anxious crowd, the way they’d exploded and cheered, the way people reached across to the person they loved and pulled them into a kiss. Steve had never imagined he’d see two men kiss in public that way, let alone standing in front of the nation’s capital as they were broadcasted on live television. It had struck Steve as incredibly brave, to fight for something as simple and universal as the right to love. The way they had refused to let go of one another. They were not afraid. That was more than Steve could say about himself.  
  
As Sam and Nat stare at Steve, waiting, he just smiles, resting his hand on Natasha’s shoulder and squeezing it. “He’ll be back before we know it. Probably doing something real important.” He doesn’t elaborate after that, locking away the thoughts of Bucky before he can dwell on them longer.  
  
After some time of letting the bleach set into Nat’s hair, Steve instructs her to wash her hair to get the excess product out. As she turns on the water, Steve decides to lay down and give her some privacy while she showers. Sam follows behind him, stumbling a little, but seeming to sober up. Steve smiles at the sight, Sam hardly able to stand upright without falling down. Nat doesn’t take long, but Sam is asleep before the water even turns off. Once Natasha steps back into the room, he realizes Nat is wearing his clothes, something she’d probably snatched out of Steve’s duffle bag. It’s a Dodger’s t-shirt, one Tony had actually gotten him one year as a Christmas present. Steve had never worn it before.  
  
It's too dark to actually see how Nat’s hair looks. He watches as she examines herself in the mirror, shaking her hair damp with one of the motel towels. She seems to be sobering up as well, her movements still a little loose but focused. When she makes her way back into the room, Steve notices her eyes seem red.  
  
She smiles sadly at Steve, before sitting beside him on the bed, ignoring Sam’s snoring beside her. A bold move for Nat, she reaches over and squeezes Steve’s hand. He looks at her with questioning eyes, trying to find a motive evident in her face. She just looks sad.  
  
Then, she says, “You don’t fool me, you know.” Steve doesn’t respond, so she just continues. “I know you miss him.”  
  
Steve feels guilty even having this conversation. He shakes his head, trying to downplay the accusation. “He’s fine.”  
  
Natasha scoffs. “But are you?”  
  
Steve doesn’t say anything for a long time. Natasha waits for an answer, but eventually decides to drop the subject. She releases Steve’s hand from her grip, presses her lips to his cheek, and crawls into the bed adjacent to Steve and Sam’s, turning so her back faces Steve. Steve waits for her breathing to even out, waits for the room to reach silence. Eventually, it does. Once he knows he’s the only one awake, he stands and fills two of the glass cups left in the room and places them on the bedside table, for Natasha and Sam to drink when they wake up.  
  
Then, he lays himself down on the floor, and closes his eyes.  
  
***  
Steve wakes up and realizes Nat has moved to the floor as well. The light streaming through the motel window illuminates her newly bleached hair, like a halo around her head. She doesn’t wake up right away, however, the sound of truck engines outside eventually rouses both Sam and Natasha.  
  
They drive fifty miles trying to find somewhere to eat breakfast. Sam wakes up wanting pancakes and the supermarket only sells pancake mix, which doesn’t really work out when you’re living out of a motel room without a stovetop. Steve knows it’s irrational to waste this much gas on a stack of pancakes, but he knows Nat and Sam are seeing through his façade. Stupidly, he wonders if spontaneity will convince them their suspicions are wrong.  
  
They pull into the parking lot of a Denny’s, and Steve is relieved to find the place almost completely empty. There’s an older couple sharing coffee, and Steve realizes that they are probably younger than him. He wonders if he’d have lived a life like this, domestic and predictable. He suddenly wants it, so desperately he thinks he might cry. He wants to go to a fucking Denny’s and get coffee on a Sunday morning.  
  
They’re seated toward the back, handed menus and are left to their own devices. Sam already knows he wants pancakes, and Nat has always been a sucker for a good omelet. Steve doesn’t feel particularly hungry but decides that he’ll just order oatmeal and load it up with brown sugar and honey.  
  
The waitress takes their orders. Steve notices that she seems checked out, like she’d removed herself from the situation before it had even begun, which is fine with Steve. It just means she won’t squeal to the media that Captain America, Falcon, and Black Widow are dealing with being kicked out of the Avengers by getting pancakes and bacon.  
  
As soon as she leaves, Natasha orders the three of them coffee. Steve doesn’t need coffee anymore, he’s consistently energized and perfectly awake. He’d once explained to Bruce that it was involuntary, like blinking or breathing. If he thought about it, he could sleep, but he never got tired. He hasn’t felt his eyelids get heavy against his will since the serum. Still, he drinks the coffee Natasha orders, filling it with milk and cream, even sugar. Sam makes a disgusted face.  
  
“You are defiling it, Jesus.” He sips his coffee, practical with a dash of creamer. “Only you could absolutely ruin a simple cup of coffee.”  
  
He’s making jokes, obviously trying to lift a weight that’s settling over them. Steve feels suddenly uncomfortable, like something is coming. He taps his fingers on the tabletop, nervous and on edge. Natasha tucks a piece of her nearly white hair behind her ear.  
  
“Steve…” She tries, but Steve shakes his head.  
  
He can’t do this with them. He doesn’t even know why. They’re the people closest to him in the world. They’ve given up everything to be sitting across from him right now. Natasha gave up the only family she’d ever known, a sense of security and protection from a government out to punish her for her past. Sam had given up running around the fucking Washington Monument—for Christ’s sake. He knows he’s being selfish, to keep this from them.  
  
“I can’t.” And when he says it, his voice fucking breaks. Like he’s a boy again, waking up from a nightmare and being cradled in Bucky’s arms, quieted until his heart rate returned to the strange rhythm it followed. “God, you know I can’t.”  
  
Sam sets his jaw, serious and completely opposite of the tenderness he’d shown toward Nat last night. “Steve, you know you have to.”  
  
“What do you want?” He says suddenly, his eyes wild and accusing. “You want me to tell you that I’m falling apart, or something? Some confession about how this whole Avengers breakup is tearing me apart? I know you want to convince me to go back, I really do, but you gotta understand that—”  
  
“Steve.” Nat hisses. “Shut the fuck up, for one minute, would you?”  
  
He snaps his mouth shut, suddenly feeling the eyes of other restaurant patrons staring at him intently. He looks down into his cup of coffee, hardly touched at all. He’s cried twice since he’d come out of the ice, both releases of every single pent up emotion he’d buried beneath his golden surface. The first was a few days after he’d woken up, alone in the gym, hitting the punching bags until they’d fallen onto the ground, spilling their contents all over. Steve had fallen onto his knees, sobbing alone in the dark gym, feeling like a child. He could see Peggy’s eyes clear as day, he’d only seen her days ago. He could smell her perfume, if he closed his eyes.  
  
The second time had been at Peggy’s funeral. In front of everybody, even the press. It was closed casket. Steve had been eternally grateful.  
  
Now he feels it coming on again, like a storm. He knows if he says a word he’ll cry, sitting in this Denny’s. The eyes of his friends bore into him like needles, challenging him to share the pain with them. But how can he?  
  
“The night you got angry about Wakanda,” Sam says, slowly, like he’s trying to allow Steve time to hear him speak and process every word. “Was about more than war.”  
  
Steve swallows, blinks away the tears that are building up behind his eyes. He lets out a wet exhale, giving him away as soon as he does it. He shakes his head, but when he does it, a hot tear rolls down his cheek, and he sniffles.  
  
Natasha sighs. “My God, Steve.”  
  
Then he’s really crying. He’s quiet about it, no loud sobs or gasps for breath. But suddenly everything he’s been holding in for months comes rolling out, all in front of Sam and Natasha. They both let him cry, waiting for him to speak.  
  
“I’m so afraid,” Steve says, so quietly, like he’s admitting to a crime. “I am so afraid of losing him again.”  
  
Natasha can be tender, gentle if she wants. She knows Steve doesn’t need tender. So she just purses her lips and says, “You know you could never lose him. He’s come back from the grave for you. He’s safe there.”  
  
In that moment, Steve realizes he’s not afraid that Bucky will be hurt in Wakanda at all, not really. He’d seen the security that Wakanda had boasted when he’d visited there with Bucky. He knows in his heart that there’s more of a chance that he’ll reconcile with Tony tomorrow than a chance Bucky will be kidnapped from Wakanda.  
  
“What if,” Steve says before he can think more of it. “What if when he wakes up, he never wants to see me again? What if he doesn’t want me anymore?”  
  
“You’re worried about that?” Sam is gentler than Nat is.  
  
Steve nods, now fully realizing the pain that he’d built inside, wondering if Bucky would finally turn his back against Steve. That would be worse than Steve dying, to watch Bucky walk away on his own accord. There was a time when Steve Rogers didn’t matter to anyone in the world but Bucky Barnes. To lose that…Steve doesn’t even know what he’d do.  
  
“Steve,” Sam says sternly. “How could someone leave you that loves you the way that guy does? You realize that when he hears your voice, when he sees your face, he remembers the newspapers in your shoes, for God’s sake? He remembered your mother’s name. The man was subjected to some of the most brutal torture ever understood by historians, and he remembered you.”  
  
Steve feels pathetic, crying this way. He feels ashamed to be so afraid.  
  
“I have never seen anyone love someone the way Barnes loves you.” Natasha says. “I knew him before, you know. I’ve seen him at his worst. I mean…the man has kicked the shit out of me. The way he looks at you, Steve…it’s like you’re the morning sun.”  
  
“I…when we were young…” Steve can’t believe he’s telling anybody this. “I wanted him so bad. I tried so hard to fight it. I was so afraid of it.”  
  
“Have you ever considered that circumstances didn’t bring you together by chance?” Natasha questions, then flushes. “I’m not talking about soulmate bullshit, I’m talking about fighting for each other. Everything you’ve ever done is because you’ve had him tattooed on your brain. And for him…it’s the same. They thought wiped everything from him. But they didn’t wipe you.”  
  
“And so what?” Steve laughs miserably. “I’m supposed to walk to Wakanda and propose or something? Ask Bucky to ditch this whole war and hide away with me? Like that’s practical?”

“No.” Sam interrupts firmly. “No, you don’t. You aren’t a prince on a white horse or his savior, despite what people might say. You grow a pair and tell him. And if he wants to walk out on you, then he walks out on you. You are great for more reasons than Bucky Barnes. You are great because of what’s inside you. That has always been what has set you apart.”

Natasha closes her eyes, rubbing her temples, and then reaching across the table and tapping Steve’s wrist. “Wait for Shuri to call. And when she calls, you get off your ass and do your part.”  
  
***  
  
They leave their motel the next morning. Turns out, the waitress at Denny’s was more interested in their presence than initially expected.  
  
***  
  
Shuri calls in mid-May. Steve is sitting on the hood of the car they’re using in Montana, eating a protein bar. When he sees the caller ID, he picks up the phone so quickly his hands shake. On the other line, Shuri tells Steve that Bucky is awake and that she thinks he might call Steve soon. Steve wants that more than he’s wanted anything in the world.  
  
Bucky does call. Seven hours later. Steve picks up the unknown number, with hands so shaky he is afraid he will drop his phone.  
  
“Hello?”

“Hey Steve.”  
  
“Buck.”


End file.
